Startled by Olive's cry, Mahmed looked in the direction to which the girl was pointing. His fright at seeing, as he thought, the dead body of his master, was almost disastrous in its result. The upheld lamp slipped from his nerveless fingers and fell clattering upon the gunwale. For an instant it seemed uncertain whether it would drop into the sea or not, but luckily a movement of the boat slid it inboard. But the fall had extinguished the lamp. Mahmed was in too much of a blue funk to relight it. Olive settled the question by taking the box of matches from him and lighting it herself. Neither of the two lascars for'ard would move a finger to row towards the Wireless Officer. Superstition akin to panic held them in its grip. They would not--they could not--use their oars. Every bit of courage seemed to have oozed out of them. Seizing one of the spare oars lying across the thwarts, Olive, using the unwieldy ash paddle-wise, slowly brought the boat nearer and nearer the seemingly inanimate man. Had there been any wind the task would have been almost impossible, owing to the high freeboard of the lightly laden boat; but in the absence of even a faint breeze Olive was able to accomplish her aim. With a sigh of relief she threw down the oar, and, leaning over the gunwale, grasped Peter by one arm. CHAPTER XXIII Peter takes Charge of Things Exerting every ounce of strength, Olive tried and tried in vain to haul Mostyn into the boat. In normal conditions he was no light weight, and now, in his waterlogged clothing and wearing a cumbersome lifebelt, he was so heavy that the girl could do no more than lift his head and shoulders clear of the water. She called to the lascars for assistance, but the only reply she received from the two men for'ard was: "No good; him dead man." Mahmed, however, although he had no doubt that he was handling a corpse, came to her aid, although he worked with an averted face. Even with his assistance Olive had a hard task, but at length Peter was unceremoniously bundled over the gunwale, and placed in the stern-sheets close to the unconscious Preston. Anxiously the girl gazed at his pallid face, hoping to detect some sign of life. Then she began the operations as laid down in the instructions for restoring the apparently drowned. In her schooldays Olive had been taught this useful knowledge, but she had never before had an opportunity of putting the knowledge to the test. She felt none too sure of it. Once or twice she found herself wondering whether she was doing the wrong thing. For a full half-hour she kept up the respiratory exercises, until, in the uncertain light of the lantern, she fancied that the colour was stealing back to Peter's face. "He is alive; your master isn't dead!" she exclaimed to the hitherto apathetic Mahmed.